


Must Be a Better Word

by megangster



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Coming Out, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Overcoming Fear, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reddie, Richie x Eddie, this is gonna turn real gay real fast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-06 03:59:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megangster/pseuds/megangster
Summary: Love.There must beA better word.-Adam Gillon





	1. Swear

**Author's Note:**

> The first proper fic I've written!  
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

Richie felt his palms sting numbly where they had been cut. Warm blood, his mixing with Eddie’s on one side and Bill’s on the other, pooled in his hand and trickled slowly down to the tips of his fingers. His face felt sweaty and almost naked without his glasses in their usual place, the only lasting proof of them were pink indents, slightly darker than his flushed cheeks, marking each side of the bridge of his nose. His eyes glazed over in the humidity, the thick air making it nearly impossible to concentrate. He dimly noted the sense of security and near intimacy as he stood there, and allowed the quiet-- perhaps the first true feeling of quiet they felt in weeks-- to remain untouched.

Trashmouth Tozier had made it out alive. It was almost like a joke, or a thought that felt foreign as it bounced around in his skull. He had had sufficient time to consider what would happen when they would face It. Honestly, the rational likelihood that they’d all survive was pretty low, and although Richie wasn’t typically the most rational out of the bunch, he knew that fact-- and he knew that if it would be anyone, he’d be the first to go. His lips never zipped; it’d get him in trouble like it always did-- except this time it would be for good. This was far from the first time (or the last time) that he wished he could just shut his stupid mouth. 

But the reality of the situation was that he didn’t die. Miraculously enough, no one did. There they were, famous Lucky Seven, the fucking Losers Club, coming to you live from the Barrens. They were alive, goddammit, they had made it out alive. They were alive and okay and Richie had to scrunch up his nose for a second so that he wouldn’t feel tears prick the corner of his exposed eyes. Now that would have been pretty chuckalicious, if Richie had been the big baby that cried first. But he knew even if that did happen, no one would pass judgement. They’d understand, and probably join in after him as they were all holding back waterworks themselves. 

Eddie’s focus was on trying not to grasp Richie’s hand too hard. Well, his grip was fairly limited anyways because of the cast but regardless, he made a conscious effort not to squeeze the taller boy’s bony fingers so much. Simultaneously, he monitored his breathing to make sure his breath didn’t hitch. If he started to breath bad again, he’d have to break the circle to get his stupid aspirator out of his back pocket. Therefore, to kill two birds with one stone, Eddie tried not to focus on the overwhelming sense of relief he felt as the sheer fact that his friends were around him and all in one piece. He focused instead on a bead of sweat that was slowly inching its way from the base of his hairline to his cheekbone and let the silence of the other six do its job. 

Eddie saw Richie’s freckled nose crinkle for a moment and saw him look down. It was likely no one else had seen the small action, and even if they did they’d probably think Richie was just holding in a sneeze or something like that. But Eddie knew Richie pretty well, and decided that the death grip he was preventing himself from performing on Richie’s hand couldn’t be helped. The soft pads at the end of his fingers pressed into the warm skin on Richie’s hand and a mute sigh left Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie felt Richie’s fingers wriggle out of his tight embrace, breaking the contact of their skin for a second so he could instead weave his fingers in between the other boys, latticing them like a woven picnic basket. Neither of them looked at each other; Richie kept his gaze where it had been before, looking at the ground, and Eddie found himself forced to do the same to hide the magnified heat he felt revealing itself on his cheeks. None of the other five noticed. 

“Swuh-Swear to muh-me that you’ll c-c-come buh-back,” Bill’s voice snapped the Losers back into reality, “Swear to me that if Ih-Ih-It isn’t d-d-dead, you’ll cuh-home back.” A second passed, and each kid knew what the others were thinking. They were thinking about what had just happened, not only what had happened in the sewers mere minutes ago, but everything that had happened the last several months. They were thinking about that thing that had taken their lives and the lives of the people in Derry hostage since that past fall. They were thinking about how it had taken over their lives since the beginning of time. They were thinking how they shouldn’t have made it out alive. They were thinking, how the fuck were we spared when Eddie Corcoran and Betty Ripsom and even goddamn Victor Criss aren’t here to tell the tale. But they were also thinking how they weren’t simply spared; they had fought, and that's why they were standing there together in the Barrens, allowed to feel free and almost even safe for the first time in months. 

Ben finally spoke: “Swear.” Richie came next. He tried to sound as firm as he could. “Swear.” They all promised they’d come back, Eddie with a whistle in his breath and Stan a bit quieter, avoiding eye contact, but they swore nonetheless. A silence set over the Barrens again. Their minds raced, hoping that no one would forget the promise, and hoping that they would have no reason to remember it.  
Ben let go first, his puffy fingers releasing themselves from Stan’s first, then from Bev’s. He reached up with his sweatshirt sleeve to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead, and said that he’d ought to get home before he had a heat stroke. No one could deny that iced tea and air conditioning sounded like nothing short of pure heaven, so no one objected. Bev followed Ben out of the circle, waving goodbye before the two climbed up and out of the Barrens. 

Mike said his goodbyes next before leaving, as well. Richie looked over at Eddie, whose face was as red as a cardinal, and asked him if he could walk him home. Y’know, since it was so hot and Eddie’s breathing wasn’t always so great-- plus he had a bum arm. Eddie nodded his head, and the two walked away from what was left of the circle, step in step. Stan and Bill remained, and then it was finally Bill who was left alone in the grass clearing. 

The sadness wasn’t as apparent as they had thought it would be. There was an understanding in everyone that they may not all be together again. Some would stay close, others less so, but what they felt wasn’t so much a sense of sadness but rather a sense of nostalgia, and of comfortable understanding. If they weren’t altogether again, it’d be okay. They’d still be friends, and if they weren’t, that’d be okay too. For the first time in a really long time, the Losers felt as though they’d be fine.


	2. Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter!!  
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

As before they had left, it was still the putridly humid afternoon when they arose from the sewers and found themselves walking back home on the sidewalks of Derry. It felt like years had passed since they descended under the town, yet simultaneously felt like mere moments ago. Hell, the Losers were all in a bit of a confusion trying to figure out the timeline of events. When something as traumatic as what they had just gone through presents itself in someone’s course of life, who can keep track of what time it is before and after? I guess at this point it didn’t matter, they thought. They were in Derry, walking home and planning how to go back to living their lives. They took is as what it really meant-- safety, for now. Time goes on and they’d readjust; their mothers would be looking for them shortly.

Richie and Eddie walked side by side, shoulders barely brushing and heads lowered, to watch their steps or to hide their faces, or maybe just so they wouldn’t have to look at each other for just a little longer. No noise passed between them, and all that reverberated in the arid streets around them was the low, buzzing hum of cicadas, reminding them it was the thick of August as if the hair plastered to their foreheads wasn’t enough, and a brief twinkling sound of a small tricycle bell a street down from where they walked. Lost in thought, the two may have strolled right past Richie’s house if his mother had not been sitting on the front porch.

“Richie?” Maggie Tozier questioned, observing her son and his best friend shuffling straight past the stairs that led to the house-- a pretty funny sight, if a person had no idea the circumstances causing it. “Are you coming home?”

Richie glanced up and turned his head back, as though in a cartoon. Maggie stifled a concerned sigh; she would never understand her son. Did she even try to? Irrelevant, really. Eddie, too, looked back at Richie’s mother and forced himself back into reality. They both smiled to show they were alright, and hoped this gesture would, too, lessen the shock of her seeing the foul sewage and blood mixture that stained their clothes.

Questions (or, perhaps, just “question” is better; nothing more was asked besides “what happened?”) were pushed aside as the two boys ran upstairs; Mrs. Tozier telling Eddie she’d call his mother for him and let her know he’d be over for a bit. Eddie thanked her, truly grateful that he would not need to hear the screeching sounds of his mother’s questioning at that moment. Other than that, Maggie stayed out of whatever troublesome business the two communicated between glances and head nods. They were allowed upstairs with little trouble at all.

Closing and locking the door behind them, Richie and Eddie nearly collapsed onto the floor. Richie went so far as to lie down flat on his back, legs and arms sprawled in all directions like a starfish. Eddie sat a foot away, knees drawn to his chest and arms holding him up behind him. Another moment of silence passed. Their breathing settled to a normal pace, albeit requiring a puff of his aspirator from Eddie, yet neither of them able to really adjust to silence yet. It was Richie who spoke first.

“Wanna take a shower?” he said softly, barely any energy to push out anything stronger.

“I guess so.” 

“I’ll give you something to change into. You can just give it back tomorrow.”

Eddie mumbled a sort of thanks and began getting to his feet, reaching his hand out to grasp Richie’s clammy one and pull him up beside him. The two stood in the middle of Richie’s room, the finality of what had happened sinking in at last, and understanding that this was pretty much it, back to the normal routine. 

Eddie began to walk to touch the door handle that led out of Richie’s bedroom after being handed a light green t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts, but turned around before his fingertips could graze the metal. He looked over his shoulder and saw Richie, now sitting on his bed, staring back. Eddie began to walk back towards Richie, and Richie got up again as if he knew exactly what was coming. 

Eddie put his face onto Richie’s shoulder and felt his long, lanky arms close around him. He let out a couple sniffles, nothing more, and Richie placed a tiny kiss on top on Eddie’s head. He wasn’t sure why he did it, he just felt like it had to be done. Eddie pulled away after a few second and they both broke into giggles.

“What, Eds? I can’t help it when you’re so gosh darn cute!” he joked, hiding his embarrassment. Eddie shoved his arm gently, continuing to laugh quietly as he opened the door and walked to the bathroom.


	3. Cool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update featuring Bev!  
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

Beverly Marsh pulled her blue woolen cardigan over her shoulders as she stood on the steps that left Derry High School. The fall of 1992 had promised to be cooler than previous years, and she was really feeling it now. That dumbass sure knows how to make a girl wait, she thought to herself and chuckled, picturing Richie stumbling out of Mr. Mauro’s room on the second floor after an hour’s worth of silent, wall-staring detention. She told him she’d meet him where she stood, and they’d head over to the park to practice their dance for the talent show and maybe smoke some Winstons.

Another cold chill sent crackling leaves flying near her feet. She crushed them down and appreciated the satisfying crunch they made. She checked her watch again and rolled her eyes. Almost as though he sensed her growing annoyance, Richie bound through the metal doors that left the school and ran up to where she stood, dark brown curls flowing behind him and glasses slipping down the thin bridge of his nose. 

“My deah!” He shouted, approaching her and feigning a glass of Brandy in his hand. “You look SIMPLY incandescent in this autumn laight! How thee makes my haht fluttah!” Satisfied with this patchwork of a British Socialite accent, he knelt in front of her, pretending to drop the glass in an explosion of sharp crystal so he could grab her pale hand and place a delicate peck on her wrist. 

She smiled a little and sighed. “You’re so late. It’s already 4 and it’s gonna get dark if we don’t head over soon.” Having already been on his knees, he took to his pickaninny voice. “Issa sorry, Miss Scawlet! Doan hurt me, miss! Spare thisyere black boy, miss!” 

This time, she couldn’t hold back rolling her eyes again. “Are you coming or not, Trashmouth?” Richie quickly replied, “Issa comin’!”

The walk from the school grounds to the park was no more than seven minutes, but the two took up that whole time talking about what a dick Mr. Mauro was. When it came to Richie and teachers, there were only two polar ends-- they either thought Richie was the funniest kid alive (rare, but there were the occasional few), or they gave him detention every living chance they got. Mr. Mauro, unfortunately, was the latter. It was especially unfortunate because he taught the theater workshop class that Richie, Bev, and Ben had all signed up for together. That was pretty much his favorite class; he thought his joking, over the top nature fit in perfectly with the atmosphere. That dipshit just thought Richie was annoying.

They reached the park and put their bags down on a wooden picnic table. Beverly rubbed her hands together and unzipped her purple Jansport backpack to retrieve a pair of woven gloves that were just a little too small for her hands. Richie, too, unzipped his bag and pulled out a portable cassette playing radio. Clunky for sure-- he could barely zip up his bag when that thing was in it-- but it got the job done, and was perfect for dance practice in the park.

Richie popped the cassette in, and Safety Dance began to flow out. The synth beat at the beginning was so jarring every time it came out of that shaky little radio that, like clockwork, Richie and Bev would giggle at each other before getting in position to dance. The electric slide, the running man, the cabbage patch, and the roger rabbit all flowed through the two of them, perfectly in sync, legs and arms timed thoroughly to the music and showed the hours of practice they’d gone through to achieve it. 

As the song drew to a close, they pretended to bow to a crowd of screaming fans and sat down on the bench out of breath. They still had three weeks until the talent show, but they knew with something like this they’d not only get the entire audience cracking up, but likely win the show as well (making fools of themselves in the process, which was still totally worth it). 

Bev, always prepared, pulled out a pack of Winstons and two cans of Pepsi. The cans were still cool because of the biting weather, and Bev took off one of her gloves so she could snap open the metal tab at the top as well as pull out a cigarette and light it. Richie put one up to his lips and she lit his as well. 

“We’re so gonna win the show with that dance,” Bev scoffed.

“Yeah, definitely.” Richie answered confidently, and took a sip of the soda. 

After a couple seconds of quiet, only the the wind hitting the leaves being heard, Bev piped up. “How was Physics today for ya, Rich?” He felt the tips of his ears get warm and smirked up at her.

“So was this what you’ve been waiting to ask me all day, Bevvie?” 

“Yup, pretty much.”

Richie sighed, and found himself unable to pull out any voices or jokes every time this subject came up in conversation. Beverly really did know how to push his buttons. “It was fine, just like any other day. We did this sick lab where we made circuits, mine worked the first try. It was pretty badass.”

“Oh, yeah? Sounds fun. And how was your lab partner?”

“Fine.”

“Yeah I bet he was.” Another bout of silence.

“Fuck, Bev!” Richie finally said, as though an epiphany had popped into his head, “I like him so much.” He sunk his reddening face into the crook of his elbow which rested on the table in front of him. “What do I do?”

Bev laughed triumphantly, finally getting what she wanted out of him. She patted him on the back understandingly. “You’re such a gaylord Richie, I never see you all embarrassed like this. That’s why I can tell you care about him a lot.” In response, Richie just dug his face further into his arm. 

“What do you do? Hm. Well, if I were you I’d just ask him to hang out. Make sure it’s just the two of you, though. Maybe you can drive around and go get ice cream or something like that. Try to make a move.” She elbowed his side, rendering no reaction from him. “Cmon, Rich. Seeing you down like this is such a bummer.”

“Well, I don’t really know how you’d expect me to act any different. Eddie will never like me back. If I told him I liked him, he’d probably want nothing to do with me anymore.” 

Beverly genuinely felt bad for Richie. She wanted to tell him she knew this wasn’t true; she wished that she could tell Richie that Eddie liked him just as much, that Eddie had told Bill that two weeks earlier and Bill had told her, but she knew that she couldn’t be the one.

“I’m just saying, if you never tell him you’ll regret it. Just like, give him a call or something and ask him to hang out. I’m telling you, you should do it. Trust me.”

“I’ll think about it,” replied Richie and took another Winston out of the pack in front of him.


	4. Honest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Bill and Eddie's friendship so here you go!  
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

Two weeks before, Eddie followed Bill up to his room and closed his door behind him, being sure to also press the lock in and ensure no one would come in. His heart pounded in his ears as he took a seat next to his friend on the side of his bed. 

“S-s-so wh-hat did you w-wh-ant to t-tell me, Eh-Eddie?” Bill said, looking concerned and checking quickly to make sure Eddie had his aspirator in his back pocket like he always did-- just in case. He looked so nervous that he wasn’t sure if he might need it. Eddie’s nervousness made Bill get even more worried, and Bill shifted his seat to having his feet under him in a criss-cross. Eddie stayed as he was, stiff as a board.

“Bill…” Eddie said in what was barely a whisper, “I have to tell you something, and I hope that it won’t make you hate me.” His voice trembled and he looked down. He thought if he had to look up at Big Bill in that moment, he wouldn’t be able to get out what he had been practicing to say the last several days.

“Eh-Eh-Eddie, I d-d-don’t really think eh-eh-anything you sa-ay could m-m-make me h-hate you.” Bill said, and meant it earnestly. He actually thought he had a pretty good idea of what was about to come out of Eddie’s mouth, anyways.

“Okay. Well, um.” Eddie took in a deep breath, reached to his back pocket to grab his aspirator and triggered it, and took another deep breath. Then triggered his aspirator again. “Okay. I… think I might… like boys. I don’t really know what to do about it and I’m really scared, so that’s why I’m telling you. I... trust you the most.” Eddie didn’t lift his head, but did move it slightly to his left to hurriedly glance at the watch wrapped around his thin wrist, almost checking as though hoping he’d find a reason to run out of that room as quickly as he could. 

Bill smiled and put a comforting, strong hand on Eddie’s small shoulder. “Ih-it’s oka-ay, Eh--Eh-Eddie, I alreh-eady th-th-thought that. A-a-and I nu-nu-know you like Rih-ichie, t-t-too.” 

Eddie looked up sharply, eyes growing to the size of baseballs and face growing red. He was speechless for a couple of seconds, thinking that his first confession would be the only one he’d have to live through today. He thought that he would never tell anyone about his crush on Richie, that that horrible secret would stay buried in himself for as long as he lived. He was prepared to live with that forever, as long as he’d never have to deal with the embarrassment of others finding out. 

“H-how did you... know that…” Eddie murmured, and looked as though he was shrinking into himself with chagrin. 

“W-w-what is ih-it, Eh-Eddie? A-a-are you d-deh-eveloping a st-stutter too? Th-that’s my th-thing.” Bill said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood a bit but evidently failing as Eddie almost grew more devastated as the seconds passed. “Eh-Eddie, I d-d-don’t think you have to w-worry. H-he d-d-definitely likes you, t-too.”

Eddie’s head spun and he swallowed so he wouldn’t form tears in his eyes. There were many times he wished he could burn a hole through the ground and just fall through it, but this definitely took the cake. His cheeks were so hot he thought that they could just do the burning for him. He picked at loose threads on Bill’s cream colored sheets.

“There's no way he likes me, Bill. He doesn’t like boys. He’s actually normal.”

“I-I think that’s th-th-the first time I-I’ve eh-ever heard s-so-omeone call Rih-Richie T-T-Tozier normal.”

“I’m serious, Big Bill. He’d never like me back. I didn’t want anyone to know I liked him.”

“Ih-if I’m g-g-gonna be honest w-with you, you d-d-didn’t do the be-est job c-c-covering ih-it up.” Bill knew how serious Eddie was about this, but he wished he wasn’t. He knew that no one could ever hate Eddie or think of him differently because of something like this, and he knew well that Richie would be ecstatic to hear the news. Bill was actually pretty happy for the two of them himself, knowing it was likely only a matter of time now, but he tried not to show it. He didn’t want Eddie to think he was laughing at him. 

“Are you serious… so do you think… the others know, too?” Eddie’s voice quivvered.

“U-um… well, I really d-don’t thing you ha-have to w-w-worry about ih-it t-t-too much. Th-the others l-l-love you s-s-so much, Eh-Eh-Eddie. Really. E-even if we d-don’t understand, we’ll n-n-never think there’s s-s-something w-wrong with you. P-p-please don’t be s-s-sad or scuh-scared. N-no one will think eh-any different of you. Eh-especially Rih-Rih-Richie. He’ll p-probably be really happy.”

“If you tell Richie I think I’ll die.”

“I w-won’t, p-p-promise. Ch-cheer up though, honestly. I-I-It’s really not a b-big deal to us.” Bill gave Eddie a hug and punched his shoulder lightly. Eddie glared up at him, thinking that it really was a big deal, and that there was no way he would ever recover from this. But at the same time, he knew Bill wouldn’t lie. So he tried to smile a bit and ignore every thought that told him that he could never speak to Bill again.

“S-so, w-why don’t you c-c-call Rih-Richie and ask him to g-go to the muh-movies or something?” 

“Shut up.”


	5. Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo its getting fluffy get ready  
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

Richie rarely felt like he couldn’t get his words out, yet here he was. His parents were not home; they usually weren’t when he got home from school. His father slaved away at the Dentist’s Office to get the food on the table and his mother…. Well, she’d leave and come back in time to make dinner, and that’s all that anyone in the house really gave a shit about. So Richie was home alone, and found himself sitting on the floor of his living room, head resting on the wooden coffee table that stood next to the brown leather couch. A couple inches above where his head leaned against the wooden bars, his home telephone sat, almost begging him to reach up and type in a number he knew by heart.

He felt like he had returned back to middle school. He saw the irony in the situation; that he was the one getting nervous and losing the words he had practiced perfectly. He drummed his fingers against his jean-clad lap and took a deep breath. Okay, Rich. Now or never, man. Find your goddamn balls.

He stood up swiftly, holding on to the neighboring table for balance after his vision got dark for a moment. He settled himself onto the couch next to the phone and picked up the receiver. The dull noise beckoned his fingers to move onto the worn out keys, the habitual association lingering as he held himself back from typing quickly and with purpose, like a novelist on an Adderall high. 

He remembered what had stopped him in the first place, and what now held his thin hand floating in mid air inches away from the buttons. Richie would have to be a fool to think that this would actually work. He’d just pick up the phone, type in that number (less than ten seconds in total duration), and ask his best friend out on a date. The situation was all wrong-- besides even worrying what Eddie would think, what about everyone else? It wasn’t his friends that he was worried about, but rather his other peers, his own parents, the looming Mrs. Kaspbrak. If she found out…

I mean, sure, they wouldn’t have to tell any parents. But that was irrelevant because Eddie would laugh in his face anyways. Who’d want to go out with annoying Richie Tozier, receiver of perpetual eyerolls and middle fingers. If by some miracle chance Eddie would agree to go out with another boy, what would ever compel him to say yes to Richie? His heart sank with the remembrance of that plausible and likely thought. 

But Richie was a fool, though, because he remembered Bev’s confident reassurance and typed in that number anyways. 

Two rings and then the sound of a phone being picked up. A light breath and then a familiar, “Hello?”, and Richie was all grins again. “Hey Eddie!” Richie chimed cheerfully into the plastic telephone handset. 

“Hey Richie! What’s up?” Eddie answered, and Richie could hear how his words sounded just a bit different, like how words sound when said through a smiling mouth. His heart sped up.

“Well, um, I was just wondering,” Richie paused a moment, contemplating the best way to roundabout an inherently awkward phrase. Did he dare call their potential outing a date? Nah, he wasn’t a complete dumbass. Ask to hang out alone, just the two of them? Creepy.

“I was just wondering if you had any plans on Friday? I mean, after school, of course.” Well yes, of course it was after school. A small hiccup, but nothing too catastrophic. Richie held his breath and waited for the response, a cold pit making his stomach feel the same way it does when you miss a step going downstairs for water in the middle of the night.

“Yeah! Oh, well I mean no. I don’t have plans! Why?” Eddie piped up, a little too fast. 

“Oh, well great! I was… I was just wondering if you’d wanna hang out? Like maybe go get ice cream… or something.”

“You mean like, just the two of us?” Eddie wanted to make sure he wasn’t making a fool of himself by getting his heart set on something more than a Loser’s Club group outing.

“Oh, well, I was thinking just the two of us. Why, did you want to invite the others?” Richie held his breath; he had had his heart set on the same thing.

“No!” Eddie said quickly yet again, and then said it again so he wouldn’t seem to eager. “No no, just the two of us… would be fun! So, what time?” Richie could hear Eddie’s smile changing the sounds of the words again. He let himself take a breath again.

“Well, Good Sah, may I pick you up at seven?” Richie said gleefully in his best British Chauffeur voice-- different, he claimed, from his British Socialite voice, but only he could tell. Eddie could nearly visual Richie sitting near his phone, but keeping his back straighter than usual when getting into this voice. Maybe even putting his nose up a little. Eddie chuckled.

“Sounds good, Jeeves. Oh, and don’t forget to finish up that lab report.” Eddie said.

“Of course not, Eddie Spaghetti. Well, see ya tomorrow!”

“See ya, Richie.” 

Both hung the handset back into the base of the phone and smiled.


	6. Cologne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm evil and drawing out the time before their date. I already have the next couple chapters written so I'll try to update more often! I have so much to write about these nerds, I have a feeling this fic is going to be like 40 parts long lol.  
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

Richie stood in the bathroom, eyes glaring at the mirror so ferociously it looked like his gaze alone could shatter it. He took his glasses off. Stared again. Put them back on. Stared. Off. Rinse and repeat. 

He liked the way he looked better without his glasses. Those Coke bottles that eternally separated his dark eyes from whatever or whoever they were observing not only got in his way in terms of comfort and languidness, they also only added to a physical appearance that called enough attention. Long, messy, curly dark hair with large, dark eyes to match-- only accentuated by thick glasses that could have been cut straight from those fancy coffee tables he saw in magazines, and as lanky as a french fry. This all did nothing to help his image in the eyes of most peers.

But Richie wasn’t Richie without them. Without any of this, he’d just be any other kid. He had a good looking face, slim nose dotted with freckles that matched the stars in the sky. He’d grow into his long arms and legs. Everyone told him to fix up his hair, get a pair of contacts, and he’d have the ladies chasing him for miles.

But then he wouldn’t be Richie. And Richie being Richie was what made the love he felt for his best friend not be unrequited. 

Richie sighed and put the glasses back on, accepting the fact that he could either go out with Eddie, glasses in place and dorky as ever, and have a great time, or he could lose the glasses, look cool, but be sans vision. He thought that if he wouldn’t be able to see Eddie fully, there’d be no point in going anyways. 

He made up for this glitch by dressing as well as the contents of his closet would allow. He put on his favorite button up shirt (white with little red and blue triangles) and rolled the sleeves up so his thin arms were exposed. He’d have to put on a jacket to fight the frigid weather but the shirt was worth it. He tucked it into a pair of blue creased slacks and belted it. Black loafers, too. 

He even tried to handle his mane of hair, brushing it back and wetting the front with water so it stayed down a bit. No dice, unfortunately, but overall he looked correct. He smiled at himself in the mirror, using his best Hi I’m Confident Richard Tozier voice to hype himself up and keep any nerves down. He reminded himself this wasn’t a really date; he and Eddie would go for ice cream and then drive around. That’s it.

And then the realization hit him. It was a realization that was so silly he almost cried out from dumbfoundedness. 

It was just driving and ice cream. Richie was in slacks and loafers.

He was about to make an idiot of himself. 

Richie glanced down at the watch on his wrist and sighed uneasily. 6:53. Already running a couple minutes late, forgetting to account for the driving time it would take to get there. He had asked his dad to borrow the car for the night; his father saw him check where his nice shoes were and smirked at the thought of his son picking up a girl. Close, but not quite.

Richie had no time to change. He ran his fingers through his hair, forgetting that the goal of the night was to keep it tame. Shit, he thought to himself, it’s gonna be so awkward when I pull up looking like I’m going to Stanny’s Bar Mitzvah and Eddie will still be in his school clothes. He was dimly aware that this would mean Eddie’s understanding of Richie’s thought process.

His stomach felt knotted and tight as he buckled himself into the front seat of his father’s car. He began to dread seeing Eddie. Well no, not really true. He began to dread Eddie seeing him.

Warm air blasted from his dashboard, bringing forth a familiar stale smell, and Richie grabbed the black knob in front of him to turn on the radio. The ride to Eddie’s wasn’t very far but he needed whatever he could get to get him through this restlessness-- and music was the closest thing Richie had to a cigarette, as it had a similar effect in calming his mind. He wasn’t usually the nervous type, his voices being an easy cover up for any fear or hesitation he ever felt. But with Eddie, it wasn’t that easy. He saw through it all.

Richie coasted on the empty streets; the sun was already beginning to set and most kids had been rounded up by parents for dinner. He sped through Derry with no one there to tell him to slow down, and got to the front of Eddie’s house by 7:01. He nearly considered parking in the driveway, but knew that Sonia Kaspbrak would run out the door to interrogate him the second she saw his car through her window. He prayed that God was on his side tonight, that it wouldn’t be her that opened the door. He hoped, nearly prayed, it’d be Eds, and he’d be able to slip out before his mother got too bad about letting him go.

Richie stood at the front door and talked himself up like a quarterback before his big game of the season. His fists were clenched at his sides and unable to stand still with the jittery buzz in his chest, he bounced from leg to leg and told himself that if he didn’t get it together he’d have to beat himself up or something. 

He took a final deep breath and his hand began to rise slowly, reaching for the metal knocker in front of him. As soon as he had nearly touched it, he heard two clicks and the door swung open in front of him. He filed a note to thank God that night because it wasn’t Sonia that opened the door but, in fact, Eddie.

Before Richie even saw Eddie fully, he smelled him. The boy had sprayed on so much cologne that it followed him like a cloud. He smelled really good, but it was so overpowering that Richie felt dizzy. Well, it was either that or just the situation itself. Perhaps a good mix of both.

Eddie stood at the door, hair neatly combed back, a sweater hung over his frame, fitting perfectly unlike some of his hand-me-down shirts that were loose in just about every place possible, and black slacks that connected with black dress shoes at the bottom. Richie thought he could cry from relief. Eddie, seeing the boy in front of him nearly jumping out of his skin, also wearing his Sunday best, felt the same way.

Both boys had embarrassingly assumed this would be a date, more than just hanging out and getting ice cream as pals, and both boys felt lightheaded and shakily thrilled when they realized that-- straight out of their wildest imagination-- their hopes may not have been too far off.


	7. First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyy finally getting to the date! Every chapter of this fic is gonna be fluffy and cheesy as a warning, so if that isn't your thing this fic is not for you lol.  
> By the way, I haven't mentioned this before but just wanted to put my tumblr on here. Its @eddiekasp, and if you like It content or reddie content, you should check it out! Also check out my awesome friends @eddiesbadbreak and @stanleyuriis who help develop headcannons as well as always proofread my chapters!  
> Anyways, characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

Richie always drove too fast. Eddie's hand held onto the handle bar above his head for dear life, as a mixture of intense speed, carelessness, and immensely loud rock music together made him nearly see the light. Any slight swerve would send Eddie’s other hand rushing to grab Richie’s arm or thigh, and Richie would cackle. Richie always had to sing along to the music too, as if his already reckless driving skills weren’t enough. He immersed himself in the music (as he always did-- being behind the wheel, of course, was no exception), and he really took it all the way. His eyes would close and head would tilt back to bellow out off tune notes as his hands would retract from the steering wheel to bang out a sick set of air drums. 

By the time they reached the ice cream parlor and Richie quickly ran to Eddie’s side of the car to open the door-- complete, of course, with the British Chauffeur voice-- Eddie’s legs were wobbling. He steadied himself on Richie arm before the two of them walked into the parlor. Eddie said he’d drive on the way back.

They sat down in an old fashioned booth, the red leather seats under them cracked with the weight of thousands of customers and with time. The waitress came up to the table and took their orders, and Richie, being nervous to just be sitting where he was sitting (and sitting with whom he was sitting), couldn’t help slipping into one of his voices. He ordered for Eddie as well as himself, and he and Eddie both were thankful that she had a sense of humor and didn’t get annoyed like other servers had in the past. 

Richie and Eddie ordered a chocolate banana split and a fudge sundae respectively. Their faces lit up as the food was brought to their table, digging into their own and then moving the bowls to the opposite side of the table so they could try the other.

Eddie spooned as much as he could into his mouth before leaning back in his seat, convinced that he would burst from the amount he ate. Richie felt similarly, yet continued to scrape the sides of the bowl, not leaving a single spoonful of ice cream. They talked about school, television shows, music, which eventually led into conversations with more substance-- what they wanted to do after high school, dreams, aspirations and such. Conversation flowed easily between them; no thought was ever required on what to say next. They felt better after talking.

Richie said he’d cover the bill and then realized he had left his wallet at home in his nervousness. So much for that. Eddie smiled understandingly and told him not to worry about it, but Richie swore he’d pay him back the next day. He intended to keep that promise too; he needed Eddie to think he was a gentleman! And then he laughed at that thought. Eddie knew him better than anyone else, changing his image now would be as pointless as a pedal powered wheelchair (that was one he had just written. Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle at it when Richie told him so Richie went with it). 

They left the parlor and Eddie took a seat behind the wheel of Richie’s dad’s car. He drove slowly and seamlessly, and Richie took the opportunity to turn the radio back on, louder than before-- if that was even possible. Eddie almost begged Richie to turn it down just a bit, since their windows were open and perhaps that half of Derry had heard it through the walls of their houses, but Richie just replied, screaming that “YOU CAN’T KILL ROCK AND ROLL EDS!” Yet again, through his slight anxiousness, Eddie couldn’t stop the small smile that approached the corners of his mouth.

They stopped at the park, where the setting sun had caused all the kids who normally hung around there to go home for the evening. Eddie checked his watch. He knew his mom was likely quaking and coaxing herself out of calling the cops. But really, what would she do to him? Any chance of Eddie leaving his date with Richie was tossed aside by the pleasant buzzing in his head and pounding in his chest. No way he’d go home now. 

“We’re gonna see who can get higher on the swings and I bet you I’ll win,” Richie smirked at Eddie. Eddie’s mom taught him to go no higher than two feet off the ground when sitting on a swing set, but Eddie had lost that shrill voice that usually hung around the crevices of his brain the second he sat in the passenger's seat of the car Richie had picked him up in. 

Eddie got a kick start off the ground and pumped his legs furiously. He kept his aspirator gripped in his left hand along with the chain of the swing, but found himself not needing it as he expected himself to. Higher and higher, Eddie kept up to Richie and his cocky grin. Eddie felt like his bright and slightly crooked teeth and shiny eyes made the fenced off playground area seem less somber and dark somehow, and Richie thought that if he didn’t look away from Eddie who laughed unabashedly and allowed his short hair to flow slightly back and forth with each thrust of his feet, he’d fall off the swings and break something. His mind quickly wondered if it was a risk he’d be willing to take.

They decided to call it a tie, the two stubborn boys unable to decide who was higher and were ultimately unable to settle the debate without a third-party witness. So they sat on the grass with their nice dress shoes off and breathed and felt happy and free. Richie inched closer to Eddie as if it were no big deal and placed his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie almost scrunched away for a moment and then he realized-- I like Richie so much. I like him so much sometimes I feel like I can’t catch my breath, but not like how it is when I get bad with my asthma. I feel it in a good way. And sometimes it’s even the opposite. Sometimes I feel like I can breath easier than normal when I’m with him. So yes, I do want Richie to put his head on my shoulder. I don’t have to scrunch away. 

Eddie smiled up at the sky and also allowed Richie to gently touch his hand before slowly bringing it into his own. Eddie even let himself squeeze Richie’s hand back and knew it’d be okay because Richie wanted that, too.  
On the ride back, Richie didn’t turn on the radio. Instead they filled the car with endless talk about whatever made them laugh-- and that late at night, it was almost anything. Eddie nearly pulled over to the side of the road in fear of crashing the car from laughing so hard. They pulled up to the curb in front of Eddie’s house and both got out of the car so Richie could take the driver’s seat. Richie said he had a really good time, and Eddie said he had a better one. Richie was willing to let his competitive streak go for a moment, even though he thought Eddie had to be wrong. 

Richie kissed the boy he liked on the cheek, who smiled back at him before walking to his front door with a small wave. Eddie walked into his house and looked at the clock: 12:07. His mother was asleep in her La-Z Boy. He thanked whoever was up there looking down on him for this sheer bit of luck, and closed the door of his bedroom behind him. Whatever his mother would say to him, he would deal with in the morning. For now, he tried to persuade himself to get up, brush his teeth, and change out of his nice clothes instead of sitting on the bed grinning like an idiot. A couple streets down, Richie was trying to persuade himself of the same thing.


	8. Film

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy next chapter!! Reddie dates to come (:   
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

The fluorescent lighting shone down and illuminated the countless rows of movie titles. Images of different colors enticed onlookers to give that film a shot as advertisements taped to yellowish grey walls screamed “Blockbusters’ Free Popcorn Tuesdays!” Richie’s eyes grazed over so many movies, it’d be impossible to count. On the other side of the aisle, back turned away from him, was Eddie, also looking for the best thing to rent for his night over at Richie’s. In between the two, blocking the aisle like a ribbon at the the end of a race, their hands hung behind them, tips of their fingers laced together as they continued to contemplate which films to take out. However, it was so late-- about 15 minutes before the store’s closing time-- that they really didn’t obstruct anyone’s walkway.

Richie turned around finally and called for Eddie to turn around as well. Both boys held stacks of at least six or so movies. Eddie sighed.

“Richie, we can’t take this many movies out. We have to decide on like, one or two. It’s already almost midnight, we won’t be able to watch this many if we tried.” He laughed a little, realizing the absurdity of the situation that he was enjoying so much. 

“You’re right, Eds. We need to narrow it down to five or so probably. Twelve is a bit much.” Richie replied, sitting on the dark blue carpeted flooring and spreading out his selection of films to decide which to keep and which to put back. “Hmm, how to decide, how to decide….” 

He cracked his knuckles absentmindedly and spoke his Pancho Vanilla voice in a near whisper, so just the two of them could hear, “Ees okay, senhorr. I weel have fun as long as we are together, si?” Eddie glanced down with a grin plastered on his face, and Richie winked at him. 

Eddie sat down on his knees across from the boy he was going out with and laughed again, knowing even five movies was still way too many. Between the two of them lied a huge selection of films-- Silence of the Lambs, Titanic, Beauty and the Beast, Goodfellas, Home Alone, Child’s Play 2 (neither had even seen the first one), and several others. 

“Okay,” they said simultaneously, and then Eddie continue when Richie looked at him with a smirk on his face. “If we have to narrow it down to five, we should just pick one from each genre.” Richie agreed, and they finally made a selection of movies-- leaving still with seven in hand. 

Back at Richie’s house, Eddie and Richie went to each bedroom and linen closet in the house, pulling out blankets and sheets and pillows, and whisked everything downstairs to make a fort using the couch and chairs. Richie said he had seen a fort like this built on TV and knew his parents wouldn’t give a shit, so they build a perfectly asymmetrical tent completely cushioned with a thick layer of white linens on the bottom. When it was done, they climbed under, resting with their backs to the couch it had all been propped up on.

They settled down snugly and Richie reached for the remote, about to turn on the movie, when he jumped up slightly. “We forgot snacks!” 

Richie scavenged the fridge and pantry for cookies and soda while Eddie placed a bag of popcorn in the microwave, staring intently so he could open it the second before it began to beep. He told Richie he was like a ninja or something, provoking Richie to karate chop Eddie’s arm (not without a “Haaa-ya” sound effect) and them to both laugh lightly. 

Settling back under the fort and making themselves comfortable once again, Eddie grabbed the remote to press play on the first film they had chosen: Silence of the Lambs. Then Richie hopped up again.  
“Sorry Eds, gotta pee.” Eddie nearly rolled his eyes, and then realized he probably should go after Richie before the two of them got too comfy. 

After both of their bladders were empty, Eddie proclaimed it was too hot in the room to be under all of these blankets, and arose to turn down the thermostat two degrees. Then they both believed they were finally ready to press play.

The movie began and within mere minutes, Richie was trying to make a move. He slowly inched closer and closer to the other boy, trying to be as silent and inconspicuous as his lanky limbs allowed him to be. Eddie, getting the hint, allowed it to happen happily. Resting his head lightly on Richie’s shoulder, the two of them felt warm and giddy. Eddie’s cheek met Richie’s bony shoulder and soft shirt, and Richie noted the way Eddie’s hair smelled like lavender soap. They had no chance to get scared from the movie, since Richie did not hold back on commentating in his vulgar fashion. They laughed breathily and quietly, trying not to wake up Richie’s parents. 

40 minutes into the first movie, the two were asleep. Their popcorn still covered half the bowl, their soda went nearly untouched. Not to even mention the other movies that lied completely irrelevant, left in a tall stack that nearly mocked them on the coffee table near the couch. The credits of the film that were playing on the screen rolled listlessly. 

Richie eventually woke up to a blue screen telling him to remove the disk, and notice that Eddie was still asleep. His eyes were closed lightly as his chest rose easily up and down and his lips parted slightly. Richie wished he didn’t have to move and he could just stay like this as long as he could, but he knew sleeping here would be uncomfortable and Eddie might catch a cold. A brief image flashed in his mind in which he was carrying the smaller boy up to bed bridal style, and he grinned to himself. But he knew he probably wasn’t strong enough to pick Eddie up and carry him.

Guiltily, he nudged the boy slightly. “Eds,” he whispered, “let's go upstairs.” He heard Eddie groan slightly and push his face further into Richie’s shoulder. It was so cute Richie could barely stand it.

“It’ll be more comfy upstairs, c’mon.” Richie slowly started to shift away from Eddie so he wouldn’t be able to lean on him anymore. Eddie finally opened his eyes halfway and groggily climbed up the stairs with Richie behind him. Their bare feet padded the cold wooden flooring and Eddie shivered. He fell into the bed immediately after Richie.

Eddie wrapped himself in the warm sheets and snuggled closer to Richie. Almost instantly, he realized what he was doing and shied away a bit. 

“Is it okay if I… come closer, Richie?” Eddie croaked, lifting his head slightly to look with heavy lids at Richie, who was reaching over to put his glasses on the nightstand. They were both still in the clothes they had been wearing that day, and Richie’s hair sprawled out messily when he layed back down, contrasting the white pillows. 

Richie didn’t even need to respond; he wrapped his arms around Eddie and sighed contently as he felt him breath warmly into his chest. Eddie, too, wrapped his arm around Richie’s torso and fell asleep shortly after, comforted not only by the warmth but also by laying next to the boy he liked so much.


	9. Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a while asdkfha enjoy this very long chapter!!  
> This is going off of Richie's mother in the film, who is an alcoholic.  
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

Stanley Uris made sure everything was set up perfectly. His parents were made aware that his friends would be arriving around six or so, so they made themselves scarce, happy to see that their son was eager to “party” for the first time. He was so serious all the time, they thought it best to give him that night. They knew him and knew him well, understood that they should allow him to have fun with his friends. Dinner reservations were made; chips with salsa and some soda were bought and left in the fridge for Stan’s friends before they left a bit before 6 for dinner. His parents kissed him goodbye, told him not to break anything with a laugh (they thought he would never do anything like that), and told him to have fun. 

Beverly and Bill were the first to arrive at the Uris household, dressed casually. In her right hand, Beverly held Bill’s thin fingers in her own, and in her left a bottle. Inside the glass the liquid was effervescent and sparkled under the lights of his house, amber and reflective. It seemed menacing. She smiled cheekily at Stan, who hadn’t been expecting this, and told him not to worry. He gave a light smile back and went to look for cups. From the living room, he heard Bev clamor out, “Tonight’s gonna be fun, Stanny! When are the rest of them coming?”

“They should be coming around... now.” Stan replied, setting down the glasses on the coffee table in the living room and heading back to grab the snacks and beverages his parents had graciously left in the refrigerator. A minute later, the door chimed through the house again and Bill got up to unlock it. Ben walked in with Mike in tow. Ben said hello to everyone and his face smoked when Beverly gave him a hug, even though the next minute she went to sit by Bill with her head on his shoulder. 

The last to arrive were Richie and Eddie, already fairly touchy-feely and comfortable around their friends as Richie had his arm draped around Eddie’s smaller shoulders. They greeted everyone happily and Richie turned on the radio that Stan’s father had sitting on another table nearby. 

“Before you people start drinking,” Stan said cautiously, “how are all of you getting home? I don’t think you guys can sleep over.”

“R-right. Who’s the d-d-designated driver?” Bill nodded his head.

Beverly looked up to where Richie and Eddie were standing. “You guys aren’t drinking, are you?” She looked over to Stan. “I think they said they weren’t drinking.”

Richie laughed and confirmed that it was true, he and Eddie weren’t. If Eddie had ever arrived home drunk, his mother would know in an instant. She would likely drive him to Derry Home Hospital within sheer seconds of his entrance through the front door, convinced that any slight stench of alcohol on her son would be enough to poison his frail body. She would probably demand his stomach pumped, or him to be put into a medically induced coma or something. Plus, honestly, Eddie himself was a bit afraid. The truth was, he didn’t know how his body would react to drinking. What if he drank too much and got sick, or worse. How could he leave his mother alone?

For Richie, his reason for self restraint was a bit more complex than that. Richie rarely spoke about his mom and her... small problem, and while no one was really told this directly by Richie, most of them vaguely theorized it was an issue. No one knew what the extent of his mother’s problem was, though; most of the time when they arrived at his house she was fine. She was kind, brought them snacks, and kissed the top of Richie’s head when she left the room. Around friends, Richie was fine with her as well. Some days, she really was fine. A bit absent-minded and un-understanding of her son, but kind all the same. 

However, there were days where it was harder. There were days where she did not get out from her bed, or speak to her son. Days where he’d have to help her walk down the stairs, or times where he’d have to speak with the police when his mother left the eggs boiling and fell asleep and nearly started a fire. Times he’d hold her hair back as she leaned over the sink or leave his chicken almost completely untouched on his dinner plate because it was pink when he cut it in half. 

On days where his mother was fine, she overcompensated. She knew she was fucked up and Richie knew it even more. She went through the motions of being a good mother, a happy mother, and Richie played the part of a pretty decent son well. His father stayed out of it, and that was the Tozier household. Most of the Loser’s had a loose understanding of the family dynamic but stayed out of it. Eddie knew a bit, as did Bev, but Richie wasn’t really ready to talk about it himself yet.

So Richie kept his nose out of that damn bottle, knowing a little too well what it could bring about. Richie snapped back, and smiled at Eddie who was already smiling at him. 

“So, if you guys aren’t drinking, can you drive people home?” Mike chirped, stuffing a chip into his mouth.

“No can do, buckaroo. Eds and I are unavailable for chauffeur services tonight.”

“Hm. Sounds suspicious,” Bev tittered. 

“Sure does!” Richie replied with a wink, as he threw himself onto the couch, patting the seat next to him so Eddie could sit next to him. After a bit more bit more bickering, Ben kindly said he’d abstain from drinking and make sure the rest of them got home alright. They all thanked him, cranked the music up, and began filling up glasses.

After an hour or so, Richie grabbed Eddie by the hand and pulled him out of the living room and into the basement. With the door of the room they had entered locked, the walls muffled the loud music blasting from the radio. Jump by Kris Kross. Perfect mood. 

“Why, my deah, you look RAVISHING tonaight!” Richie grinned. His face was lit only by some stripes of light coming in from the wooden window panels lining the room they stood in, but under his big glasses his eyes were as shiny and exciting as always. He felt jumpy and nervous even though he was more comfortable with Eddie than with anybody else.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You always pull out the voices in these situations, Richie.”

“What situations, Eds?” He smirked, bringing his face closer to the other boy. Eddie’s back was against the wall now, and he felt Richie’s bright eyes burning into his own. 

“You’re so annoying.” Eddie smiled back, voice barely above a whisper. Richie laughed giddily. Eddie’s face felt hot and he felt tempted to look down out of embarrassment, but couldn’t bring himself to. 

Richie inched forward just a bit more until he felt his lips graze against Eddie’s. The soft skin on their lips barely touched at first, but quickly they interlocked and they were kissing. Eddie felt lightheaded, warmth washing over him and urging him to close the distance even more between him and Richie. He smelled like cigarettes, dry and sour, and yet even more powerful was the smell of his sweet cologne (one that Eddie’s brain had memorized by now-- any time Eddie would hug Richie his shirt would be left with a fleeting smell of Richie’s cologne and Eddie wouldn’t want to wash it until the smell faded). 

The kiss was sloppy but extremely pleasant. The two had gained more experience as they dated for longer, and kissing for them had morphed into something they thought about more than either would admit. They loved kissing each other. Richie placed a light hand on Eddie’s hip as he moved his hips from his mouth to his cheek and jawline. He kissed Eddie’s neck, and Eddie let out an exhale as he tried to get Richie away from where he was ticklish. Richie finally broke off to bury his head into Eddie’s shoulder (needing to bend his knees slightly), and Eddie’s hand found a comfortable rest in his boyfriend’s curly hair. They stayed like this for a couple minutes, breathing easily and happily, before Richie left a quick peck on Eddie’s neck and pulled back. 

After a few seconds, Richie spoke. “Hey, Eds?”

“Hmmm?” Eddie looked up at him, eyes a bit hazed over and cheeks pink.

“I can totally beat you in arm wrestling and just thought you should know.”

Eddie’s light smile dropped instantly. “Why did you have to bring this up now, Rich?”

“Because I was looking at your hands and how cute and small they are, and thought about smashing them onto the table.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Have you seen your arms? They are… noodles.”

Richie laughed at the description, kissed Eddie’s forehead and ran over to the small table in the corner of the room that was holding a lamp. Gingerly, Richie placed the lamp onto the floor and pushed the table more into the middle of the room. “Well, let’s see who wins then, babe!”

Appreciating the cheesy nickname but not daring to allow that to show on his face (a battle was about to progress, after all), Eddie moved towards the table and knelt across from Richie. They placed their elbows onto the wood simultaneously, feeling the cool surface underneath them get warm and a bit painful as they clasped hands and applied as much pressure as possible. 

Faces red and groaning, they pushed as hard as they could, sometimes looking at each other and other times unable to see anything, eyes scrunched out of effort. “Fuck, Richie,” Eddie said under his breath, and Richie felt a surge of power at that. He pushed harder still, but Eddie would not let up.

At the same time a few feet above the two boys, the rest of the Losers were properly drunk (save for Ben, who was on radio duty, stopping at a station that was halfway through playing Jump Around by House of Pain), and it was Stan who finally asked where Richie and Eddie had gone off to. They did not have to ask or wonder what the two were doing, it was just a matter of where.

They decided to play a game. They would all split up and search each room for the lovebirds. Whoever won got the pile of 5 dollar bills that each of them had contributed to. They thought this was the perfect party game, and bemusedly ran around the house determined to catch them in The Act as well as win the cash. 

Stan’s house was a decent size, but with 5 people searching at once it didn’t take all that long to find the two. It was Mike who had tentatively put his ear to the thin, closed door in the basement. What he heard through the door sent his mind racing-- grunts and moans, mostly. God, Mike knew they were pretty much in love but… this, already? Here? He had to stifle a laugh. Horny teens will be horny, whether they were dating boys or girls, he supposed. His hand touched the cool metal door handle under him, but he paused. Maybe it’d be better to just…. let them go at it. Plus, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to see what was behind the door. 

But this had to be the funniest thing ever-- definitely too funny to pass up. Plus, he wouldn’t mind getting some sodas with the cash he was about to win. So, he swallowed the lump in his throat, held his breath, and pushed the door handle down. The door swung open with a click and a dragging sound of it rubbing against the carpeted floor. Mike braced himself for a sight he would never get rid of.

He found something else altogether, though. The two were on their knees facing each other, hands clasped and faces bright red. Mike took in the sight in front of him just as the two noticed his presence and whisked their head back to face him. Eddie, however, did not forget the fight ensuing and used this distraction to push Richie’s pale arm down onto the table. “Ha, I win.” he said triumphantly, raising himself from his knelt position and rubbing his carpet-imprinted knees momentarily before greeting Mikey. 

Mike, although heavily intoxicated, had enough clarity of mind to understand the situation unfolding in front of him AND take in the boys’ appearances simultaneously. Sure, they hadn’t been fucking when he had walked in, but their messy hair and the red circle on Eddie’s skin where his neck sloped down into his shoulder told Mike enough. 

He laughed and gave Richie a knowing look, and Richie returned it. Mike high fived Richie and walked out of the room to call up the others and say he had won the bet. Eddie glanced at Richie a bit confused. Although he had lost the arm wrestling fight, he still had a smug simper caught on his face. Eddie let it go and suggested they, too, found their way back to the group. Hands together, the two climbed upstairs to join the others having fun.


	10. Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't been updating as much!! I've gotten busy with school, but I will always still be continuing this fic!  
> I'm really excited to see the influx of new It/Reddie fans since the movie came out!!!!!  
> Heres the next chapter, I hope you like it!  
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

Richie’s room was perpetually messy. The floor could only be seen in small patches, the way sun peeks through leaves in a forest. The rest was covered by a thick sheet of clothing, candy wrappers, notes, papers from school dating back six years ago, comic books, video game boxes, and half-filled water bottles that crunched softly if stepped on. 

Richie’s mother never bothered to tell her son to clean his room any more than she ever told him to brush his hair. She never bothered more than she bothered to do… well, anything really. And his father never looked up for long enough to notice. Because of this, the only one to even comment about his disorderly living space was Eddie. 

Richie tried to clean up every time he knew Eddie was coming over. His bathroom, which was attached to the wall on the left side of his bed, had a trashcan in which Richie could quickly gather wrappers and bottles to toss into if needed. He could gather papers together into a haphazard pile to shove into the corner of his room. He could kick the sea of soiled shirts and pants into a crevice under the bed frame, and there was his hardwood flooring. 

He often wondered to himself why he didn’t just do this daily. Somehow-- he truly could not give an explanation of how if he tried-- his room would return back to normal about an hour after each time his boyfriend would leave. He would toss the clothes into the middle of his room while searching for a particular pajama shirt to wear to bed, and somehow papers from the 5th Grade that he would have no reason to be touching would end up right on top of the clothes. There was no explanation for it. 

Eddie could only stay out of the know for a couple weeks before Richie stopped cleaning his room in preparation for his arrival. When Eddie first walked in, he had to step gingerly on his tippy toes not to crunch on a chocolate wrapper or get his feet caught in the leg of a pair of jeans. He could see Richie’s curly locks remained unbrushed as well, sticking up left and right, as he sat on his (unmade) bed waiting for Eddie’s arrival.

“Sorry, Eds. I know it’s pretty gross. Stan would have a cow if he ever saw it, don’t you think?” Richie said comfortably, with a smile perking up the corners of his mouth. He admittedly felt a bit guilty, hoping Eddie would never have to see the full extent of the squalor Richie usually spent his time in, but Eddie didn’t mind, besides the fact of wanting to help out.

Eddie laughed too. “Yeah, definitely. Do you want me to help you clean up?”

Richie looked around his room, and raised his eyebrows. “I think that would be an all day project, my love. Maybe more than just one.” 

Eddie sat down on Richie’s bed next to him, not bothering to take off his sneakers after seeing Richie had his own on. He crossed his knees under him. “I don’t really mind. We don’t have to if you… like it like this, though.”  
Richie laughed at the boy’s attempt to be subtle and spare his feelings. “God Eddie, you’re such a cutie, y’know that?” He broke into his Southern Belle voice. “You ain’t gotta help lil old me! Why, you’re just as sweet as sugar, sugar!” He fanned himself with a copy of The Great Gatsby that sat open on his bed, two pages in the middle nearly crumpled into balls. 

Eddie smiled subtly, feeling heat burn softly in his face as Richie scooted behind him to sling his arms around Eddie’s front. Eddie looked around the room again. “I think if we actually cleaned everything, it might help you stay clean after. If we do it together we can go see Jurassic Park at the Aladdin after.” 

Richie cheered at that idea before asking if Eddie could brush out his hair. He was lazy and the feeling of Eddie touching and running his fingers through his hair gave him butterflies. Eddie liked doing it too, so he grabbed a comb and slowly brushed out the dark mop on Richie’s head. It had grown out long by now, a bit past his ears, and tangled almost as quickly as it had been brushed. Eddie had to be watchful, as the red plastic comb bent and buckled under the pull of knots and tangles; he did not want the thing to snap in half. Eddie loved it though; it was effortlessly soft and always the perfect place to rest his hands. Richie quipped a couple times that Eddie was pulling his hair, so Eddie went slowly, needing to wet certain pieces in order for him to make any progress with the comb.

After his hair was detangled (and left with a bit of a strange appearance; some wet pieces hanging limply and dripping onto Richie’s dark blue sheets while others turned frizzy from repeated brushing), the first order of business was picking up all of the wrappers that were shoved under cabinets and into desk drawers. Eddie took a garbage bag and filled it, telling Richie to go take it out once it was repleted with potato chip bags and soda cans. While he was gone, Eddie began to pick up clothing and place them in piles.

He quickly organized them into lights and darks, but his heart sank as he saw Richie grab both piles together and sling them into one basket near the washing machines. Richie wondered out loud how he would find what to wear the next day, considering his drawers were nearly empty and the floor had been his personal walk-in closet for the last several months.

Eddie changed the sheets and made the bed while Richie began to clean out his desk drawers. Eddie soon sat down next to Richie to observe the contents in each drawer.  
“Oh my God, Rich, you always say you don’t have enough pens but there are like… dozens in here!”

It was usually Eddie’s job (by his own volition) to bring Richie any pens he had scavenged while in school, whether they be left on the desks from previous classes or kicked into the corner of hallways. Richie loved to doodle; he said that it helped him focus. During tests or while a teacher was lecturing, Richie would always have a piece of 3-hole punched college-ruled filler paper on the right side of his desk. His pen would work quickly, staining the sheet with lines of blue or red. Eddie even learned what his scribbles meant: if he made quick strokes up and down between the lines of the paper, he was having a bad day and was probably stressed. If the sheet filled up with tiny loops and swirls, he was having a good day.

Richie also had the same habit of doodling not only on his paper, but really any surface he could find. Desks, bathroom stall doors, pages of library books (much to the dismay of Ben and Mike), and his favorite, Eddie’s hands and arms. There was only so much he could fit on Eddie’s small baby blue inhaler, and the only thing that still remained was a small, faded black heart drawn in Sharpie that Eddie had never washed off.

But on his arms, the canvas space was far from limited. During Physics, which they sat together for in the back of the room, lunch, or times when they would sneak out of class (often to the auditorium when it was out of use, or the locker room), Richie would draw on Eddie’s small hands and fingers. Eddie did not mind, as long as he was able to wash it off before he came home and had his mother see the (often crude) images.

After a day of school, Richie would accompany Eddie to the bathroom near the back entrance so he could wash off smiley faces, swirls, dicks, stick figure men on trampolines that jumped when Eddie opened and closed his hand, and fancy S’s made out of straight lines. They littered Eddie’s pale skin almost daily, but Richie never thought they lost their humor. Eddie had to admit they were funny sometimes, too.

On days when Eddie would wear a long sleeve shirt to school, he’d allow Richie to write secret messages that could be easily hidden, usually to avoid smirks and nudges from the other Losers. Under his sweater sleeves were bubble letters reading “ILY” or RT+EK with a heart around it. During class, Eddie would shift his sleeve down slightly every five minutes, reading the small letters and feeling a blush creep all the way down to his chest. Those, he tried to preserve as long as possible. They were worth hiding from his mom and friends.

Because of all of this, though, Richie’s pens exhausted their supply of ink rapidly. Richie gasped at the nearly full box of black Bic pens that had been shoved to the back of his desk drawer months, perhaps even years, ago.  
They continued to go through his desk until it was nearly cleaned, and Eddie moved over to sit in front of Richie’s open closet door. He hung up clean shirts that had fallen off hangers and onto the floor, and piled up his shoe boxes (including one where Richie kept his secret stash of snacks, cigarettes, and condoms; Eddie made sure to put that with the rest of the boxes so it would be even more inconspicuous). Under a large sweatshirt he assumed could only be Went’s old college shirt, Eddie found another hair brush, a lighter, a really old pack of Gushers, and a marble notebook.

The corners of the cardboard cover were frayed, showing the brown underneath the peeling black and white pattern. The little asymmetrical spots of white that splattered on the cover were colored in with pink and yellow highlighter, and the white box in the middle had Richie’s name scribbled messily in the center. Eddie turned around to glance at Richie, who had laid out his newly found pens on the ground and was counting them, and hoped that he wouldn’t mind Eddie looking through the notebook. 

As soon as Eddie opened the book, his heartbeat sped with each turn of the page. Richie’s scrawl of a handwriting filled each page, some short jokes that he was writing (with the addition of some sad ones: “I came home one day chewing gum I had bought at the gas station. I walk into the kitchen to say hi to my Mom, and she goes ‘your breath smells like Fireball!’ I just look at her and say, “Well, it’d just smell like cinnamon if you weren’t an alcoholic.’ Eddie almost wondered if that conversation had actually happened), lists of new voices he’d have to practice. Some pages had notes for school, about WWII or Of Mice and Men, while other pages had lists of assignments he had to complete with check marks written in red Sharpie, bleeding onto the next page. There were also some drawings in there, one of his beloved record player that sat on his desk (probably the only thing that he kept completely neat and organized in his room) or of the stuffed bear he always kept on the right side of his bed. Some graphic drawings as well; Eddie had to stifle a laugh. Richie was horny as ever, even in Middle School.

And then there were the dozens of pages about Eddie. Eddie’s eyes, lessened to small slits in intense concentration, read each word and scanned every line on the pages about him. He looked back to the front of the cover, the date written in the corner saying 1989. All the way back then? His stomach felt warm and fluttery, the way you feel after taking a shot of whiskey (not that Eddie would know) and his cheeks hurt from smiling for that long.  
Richie practiced his script lettering by repeatedly writing Eddie’s name. Nearly every line was filled; those that were not up to his satisfaction crossed out. One single “Eddie Tozier” mixed in with the countless other words, also crossed out. Seven pages later, a debate Richie had with himself over which side of the bed he and Eddie would sleep on respectively, who would make breakfast and who would clean up (the final decision was that they would alternate days; he had been correct about that all the way in 8th Grade). Eddie’s face was burning.

A couple of diary entries about days they had spent together intertwined with entries about Richie’s fear of telling people he liked boys besides just girls. Or how Eddie would never liked him back. Some writing about his troubles at home, especially with his mother, and one page filled with huge letting that screamed that he was “so gay”. 

He stared at each page, turning the book back over to read everything from the beginning again slowly. He was taken out of his absorption of the pages in front of him when he felt Richie place a peck on the top of his shoulder before sitting down next to him. Eddie looked panicked, sure that Richie would get embarrassed of his findings and angry at Eddie for intruding, but instead Richie beamed vibrantly, the setting sun dancing and reflecting off his glasses through the window across the room. 

He chuckled quietly. “You found that in there? That’s probably from like, what, four years ago?”

Eddie looked up at the taller boy sitting next to him. “You liked me… all the way back then?”

“Of course I did! How could I not have? I liked you the first day I met you.”

Eddie leaned up to kiss Richie, a feeling that felt, by now, familiar but still made him red in the cheeks each time. He supposed he liked him all the way back then, too.


	11. Cigs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about to get angsty have fun  
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

Eddie sat in his bed, his two blankets covering his legs up to his belly button and his back leaning on the headboard. The adjustable lamp that sat on the nightstand on the right side of his bed illuminated a small circle of his white sheets, set to the lowest brightness as he told his mother he would be going to sleep nearly 40 minutes ago already. He felt warm; the room was shadowy and dark save for the small golden ring coming from the side. He was wearing to sleep a shirt that was far too long to be his own-- a shirt Richie had left at his house accidentally four days prior. 

On his lap on top of the blanket sat the notebook Eddie had found in Richie’s closet, abandoned and nearly lost forever. Eddie felt like it had to have been more than a coincidence that he asked to clean Richie’s room that day. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have the notebook. Richie even let him keep it, happy to see how happy it made Eddie. Eddie just felt lucky.

He had read it so many times through now that he was convinced he could recite it. Eddie had gotten pretty good at memorizing lines of text. Richie starred in many roles in school productions (just last month he played Lumiere in Beauty and the Beast; Beverly did costumes and makeup and Eddie came every night of the show. Richie had pressed the flowers Eddie brought him into a book) and it was always Eddie’s job to help him practice his lines. They’d sit on Richie’s floor, Eddie reading the lines monotonously, making Richie laugh, while Richie reenacted the scene in front of him, gesturing extravagantly and pretending to hit himself on the head with a frying pan like in a cartoon (sounds effects included) when he forgot a line. 

Now, the lines in front of him would not be able to bring forth any feeling of monotony. A lot of the pages, some about him and others which were Richie’s writing or doodles, made Eddie wanna spin around in his room or jump up and down or something silly like that, but instead he held the back of his hand up to his mouth, concealing the smile that bloomed on his face from himself. 

Others, though, really… worried Eddie. He thought about asking Richie about them-- jokes about his mother and her problem with drinking, or how his father knows anything about him or WANTS to, how he feels like his family totally doesn't give a shit about him-- 8 or so pages like these written as rants or masquerading as funny jokes. But he didn’t know if it was his place. Although Richie had given him the book, Eddie wondered if he remembered those entries were written amongst the many pages of lighter fare. Plus, this was years ago… did Richie still feel this way?

He figured he must have, since Richie had Eddie over at all hours of the night and his parents said nothing. Not to mention the fact that Richie almost never brought up his parents, and if he did it was only to Eddie in a very quick and biting comment. And he knew Richie didn’t drink. 

But then he began wondering, and this wondering didn’t stop until he did something about it. If Richie feels ignored and not cared about, Eddie had to do something about it. The thought of him ever feeling that way made warm tears prick in the corner of his eyes if he thought about it for too long.

So Eddie pulled the covers off of his bed, duelly reminded of how much he wanted to talk to his boyfriend after getting a small remembrance of his cologne that stuck like old stickers onto the shirt he was wearing. His heart felt warm, how it felt when he hugged Richie, and he tiptoed quietly into the hallway where the phone was. 

The floor under him felt cold on his adjusting toes. He cursed (as he had at least 5 times a week) that his mother did not trust him enough to put a phone in his room. He had mastered the art of closing his door lightly as not to alarm his mother of him running away, and thanked fuck that their old curly-wired home phone in the upstairs hallway had retired from use two years ago, forcing her to get a cordless home phone. He’d sneak into the hallway quickly, the pads of his small feet barely hitting the floor beneath him, snatch the phone up and run back to his room.

He would talk to Richie with his window open, leaning out in that direction because that was the most likely way his mother wouldn’t hear him. Now, though, it was past midnight on the first week of March. Eddie already had Richie’s gift wrapped and hidden in his clothing drawer. Eddie loved March, loved how happy Richie got when they’d surprise him with cake and gifts on his birthday, loved how cold it was besides the 4 layers of shirts his mother made him wear, but now he worried he’d catch a cold leaning out the window in nothing but a thin t-shirt and his underwear.

Eddie bounced slightly up and down, convincing himself he was creating some body heat, and hoped that he wouldn’t be waking Richie up from sleeping. It was a school night, and he supposed the conversation could wait until third period when Richie had class and he didn’t and they could sit in the empty auditorium and do whatever. But Eddie felt like he had to talk to him now. 

On school nights, Richie was usually doing one of two things: sleeping, as he had been the second he walked into the house and taken his red converse off, or saving sleep for that beautiful three-hour period between 4 and 7 am so he could finish up procrastinated homework and could be found at 12:43 at his window as Eddie was now, maybe smoking a cigarette or maybe just feeling the cool air on his warm cheeks.

Although Eddie hated when Richie didn’t get enough sleep, he’d feel even worse if he would be interrupting him if he’d already passed out. Richie and Eddie talked on the phone late at night at least every other night, but it was almost always planned and usually not this late. It was rare for Eddie to stay up past 11. 

He typed the memorized number onto the plastic-y buttons of the handset, the familiar song of the buttons in that exact order echoing in his ears as he put the receiver to them. After two rings, not Richie’s voice but his father's.

“Who’s calling this late?” a deeper voice said, not angry but definitely stern. 

“O-oh, hi Mr. Tozier. It’s Eddie… Richie’s friend. I’m sorry for calling so late it’s just-- is Richie asleep?”

“Not sure.” Went pulled the phone away from his face and Eddie heard a vague calling of “Richard! Pick up the phone,” and then a click as he exited the only conversation he had ever had or probably would have with Eddie Kaspbrak.

Eddie heard a breath flow into the speaker of his phone before hearing the familiar, “Hey, Eds!” Eddie could tell he was wide awake, he just noted that his father hadn’t bothered to say it was too late to be talking on the phone.   
“Why ya calling so late? Did you miss meeeeee?” Richie said gleefully, making kissy noises into the phone.

Eddie felt any stiffness in his back that kept him sitting up straight start to melt as it always did when Richie talked to him. He could just relax.

“Of course not, you nerd. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Isn’t that kinda like the same thing?” Eddie could hear Richie’s upturned smile weaving its way into his words through the phone. Eddie could always hear Richie’s smile just as much as he could see it. It made him smile, too.

Eddie laughed at his question. “It might be.”

Richie laughed too. “Well, you know I always mish you when we’re apart, shweetheart.” His Humphrey Bogart impression had gotten a bit better since he was 12; his voice getting deeper helped a bit. “I really did though! In fact, you should come over. I don’t feel like doing homework anyways.”

“Rich, we have school tomorrow,” Eddie sighed into the phone. Honestly, he wish he could have gone over.

“Yeah, but so what? We can sleep in through first period, and you know I can forge a pretty good late pass.”

“If my mom sees that I’m gone on a school night she’ll really think I ran away this time. She’s already flipping out on me that I’m never home anymore.” Eddie contemplated how he felt on what was happening between him and his mother. “I mean, of course it’s probably better for me this way. I feel bad for hurting her though, yknow?”

“I get it, but you know she’s the worst Eddie. Like, honestly you shouldn’t have to feel bad. The only thing you should be worried about in regards to her is making sure she takes her Plan B after I leave in the morning.” Richie whooped into the phone and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Very funny, dumb ass.”

“But I’m being serious. She treats you like shit and she’s a huge bitch to you. I know I shouldn’t say that about my future mother-in-law, but you of all people should know she’s… kinda the worst, dude. Honestly, I don’t think you’re obligated to treat her well at all. She makes you feel bad, which means she’s a bad person. So don’t feel guilty.” 

Eddie felt that same hot redness flush across his skin. “Mother-in-law?” he chimed, passing in a sly comment to cover up his heart beating in his throat. He smiled. “What makes you think I’d marry you, huh?”

“If you said no to a proposal from the Richie Tozier, you’d be the biggest idiot alive.”

“I guess it takes one to know one.”

They laughed at the same time, Richie unabashedly booming through his room while Eddie had to remind himself what time it was and cover his giggles into the palm of his hand. There was a silence, comfortable and warm, broken by a cough coming from Richie.

“Are you smoking out your window right now?” Eddie said, picturing the boy leaning his elbow on the window sill, phone trapped between his ear and shoulder as he flicked ashes onto the grass below his window. A position his brain had memorized.

“You know me so well! Yeah, I… I’m actually on my second pack in the last two days,” Richie said guiltily. He knew Eddie didn’t mind him smoking, (as long as it wasn’t near him; it sometimes made his asthma bad) he just worried it'd hurt Richie's lungs. Eddie knew how much it sucked to have problems breathing. Eddie had actually been doing a decent job on persuading him to try and smoke only 1 cigarette a day and Richie even found himself skipping days altogether when he had been feeling really happy. Eddie wondered what had happened.

“Is… something wrong, Richie?” Eddie furrowed his brows, starting to worry.

“Well, uh.” Richie paused, taking in another breath and clearing his throat. Unknown to Eddie, Richie had put his cigarette out and took the back of that hand to wipe his eyes quickly. He didn’t continue speaking.

“Richie, is it… your parents?” Eddie’s heart sped up, but for the wrong reasons.

Richie nodded his head before remembering Eddie couldn’t see him. “Uh, sorta. Yeah.”

Eddie checked the clock again. Almost 1. Richie had been right, though. Why should Eddie give a shit what his mom thinks?

“Do you think I’d get murdered if I took my bike to your place?” Sonia’s window was overlooking where Eddie’s car was normally parked. She’d see the lights for sure, and wake up in a panic.

“I can come with my car. I'll stay at the stop sign down the street.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon then. Get here safe.”

“I will... Love you.”

“Love you, too.”


	12. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad Richie makes me so :(   
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

Eddie hastily chucked some clothing, his toothbrush, and his inhaler into his school backpack, leaving the books he had just spilled out laying messily on the floor. He cringed as he saw some of his papers crumpled and folded under each other in his haste. He put on a sweatshirt (another article of clothing conveniently forgotten by Richie, much to both of their delight as Richie’s heart swelled any time he saw Eddie in his clothes, and Eddie loved wearing them) and bounded out the door and quickly as he could without waking his mom. 

He closed the front door behind him and locked it with his spare keys before nearly sprinting down the street. Of course, Richie was not there yet. Eddie, again, bounced on his knees quickly, looking silly but hoping this would generate some body heat in his small frame. 

He looked up at the sky that was tinted grey by slowly shifting clouds. He begged God not to get him sick. His hands were red after whippings from the winter wind and Eddie brought them together to his mouth, blowing hot air into them before checking his watch. He hoped Richie with his old deathtrap of a car would roll up in front of him soon so he could be greeted with warm air and warm hands.

Minutes later, he finally arrived. He sped so quickly down Eddie’s suburban street, Eddie took a step back, either in fear of getting hit or of the impact of the wind blowing him off his feet. His frozen hand grasped at the car door handle, fingers moving stiffly like a mannequin from the cold. 

Eddie sat onto the suede seats in the passenger seat of his boyfriend’s car, half expecting him to be crying or something. But instead, it was normal Richie that greeted him, same as always.

“Heya Eds! Hope I didn’t make you get frostbite out there. It’s fucking freezing at one in the morning in March, huh?” Richie’s voice was extravagant and expressive as ever, his smile wide and eyebrows nearly at his hairline, but his hands gripped the wheel in front of him tightly and his eyes stayed on the road. 

The cold spot in Eddie’s stomach remained although the warmth of Richie’s car quickly dissipated the numbness in his fingers. 

“Rich… are you okay? You really scared me on the phone,” Eddie spoke cautiously. His words left his mouth with hesitation, quiet as there was (for once) no Nirvana or Smashing Pumpkins blasting through the speakers and making Eddie have to shout everything he wanted to say. 

“Yup! No problemo, Edd-o Spaghett-o.” Richie laughed to himself. 

“That’s by far the nickname worst yet.” Eddie wasn’t totally convinced. 

"I thought the time I called you Stud Muffin was the worst.”

“That one was really bad, but it was the context of it that made it worse.”

“What, it didn’t turn you on, Eds? I really thought it would, that’s why I said it, truly! I really thought it’d get your gears turning!” This sent Richie into another gail of laughter, nose scrunching at the memory of Eddie’s flushed face growing stern and telling Richie to fuck right off and that if he ever called Eddie that again, they were breaking up. Eddie admitted he laughed a bit too, but concern clouded his mind and even Richie’s usual tactics of mood lifting and distraction didn’t do much to help tonight. 

He so desperately wanted to know what Richie was dealing with. It bothered him like an itch. Eddie knew little more than what was written in his old notebook or whatever subtle hints Richie dropped when he was feeling particularly angry that day. He so desperately wanted to help Richie, to be there for him and tell him he loves him, because he knew Richie sure as fuck never heard that from his parents or anyone else, really. When Eddie told Richie he loved him the first time, Richie nearly teared up. No one had said that to him before. He was still getting used to it.

Eddie put his hand on top of Richie’s, which was resting now on the gear shift of his car. He heard Richie draw a quick breath in, look down at his hand, and then back on the road. 

When they finally arrived at Richie’s house, Richie so eagerly flew up the stairs he forgot to lock his front door behind him. Eddie was so comfortable here, though, he locked it instead, taking his shoes off to hold in his right hand, and ran up the stairs to meet Richie in his room as well.

Richie knew Eddie was onto him, and sensed himself not keeping his cover up so well. He hopped into bed, still clad in his acid washed jeans and Converse, and pulled the covers up to his chin. 

Eddie closed the bedroom door behind him, placing his own pair of shoes near the door before he began changing into his pajamas. Richie watched eagerly, making sure Eddie knew exactly what he was thinking and giggling at Eddie’s obvious annoyance. His grin widened when he saw Eddie clad in his large t-shirt, his pale legs sticking out short and thin under them with no pants to cover them. 

Eddie climbed into Richie’s bed and was instantly engulfed in Richie’s long, lanky arms. It felt comfortable, and for the first time that night Eddie started feeling like maybe everything was alright.

“For fucks sake, Richie, take your shoes off before you get into bed! There’s gravel and snow on them, you’re gonna get it all over your sheets!” Without his lazy boyfriend even having to ask, Eddie braced the cold again and got out from under the sheets to untie Richie’s shoes and slip them off, even attempting to get Richie out of his day clothes and into some pajamas.

“Damn, Eds, you horndog. If you wanna get me naked, all you have to do is say the word. I was planning on doing a whole sexy strip show for you.” Richie didn’t struggle, and let Eddie change him like a baby.

And that’s exactly what Eddie called him. “You’re such a baby, you even make me undress you. You’re lucky I like you, asshole.” Eddie bent down and picked up a pajama shirt off the floor and tossed it to Richie, giving him the look that said he better get dressed because Eddie was getting the fuck back into bed.

Richie did what the look told him to. They both crawled back into the warm alcove of Richie’s thick winter sheets and Richie rested his head on Eddie’s chest. Eddie ran his finger’s through Richie’s dark curls. Richie’s eyes closed slowly, but Eddie’s stayed open.

“How can I be depressed,” Richie said a bit hoarsely, “when I got such a cute boy’s chest to sleep on and hand to hold, hmmm? Tis the life, I tell ya! Tis the luxury, the paradise, of a beautiful life!” Richie kissed Eddie’s collarbone lightly and Eddie smiled.

“Why were you feeling depressed?” He wouldn’t let it go. Richie stayed silent, the grin plastered on his face disappearing as though in slow motion. Richie’s eyes opened again, as Eddie insistently looked at him expecting some sort of answer. 

Richie’s eyes burned hot and felt red, and he opened them wider in hopes that any tears forming behind them, now un-rimmed, would go away. He let out a shaky sigh, and pressed his face into the soft fabric shielding Eddie’s chest. Eddie could already feel small wet patches of tears, puddles on the terrain of cotton that bloomed and grew as Richie tried to compose himself.

Eddie didn’t lift his thin fingers from Richie’s hair, much to the other boy’s delight. Eddie, again, asked cautiously, “Why are you crying, babe?”

“I’m pregnant!” Richie said shrilly. Even in the midst of an emotional breakdown, Eddie was convinced this dumb boy had not one serious bone in his body. 

“Come on, Richie. This is important.” Eddie worried that, maybe Richie didn’t think he could tell Eddie these things. Eddie’s heart felt dragged down. He knew Richie didn’t have much anyone else to discuss this with, besides maybe Bevvie, but… if Eddie knew Richie spoke to her about this and not to him, he’d undoubtedly be hurt.

Richie and Eddie had been so close for so long, they had nearly developed the skills of mind reading. But only on each other. As if on queue, Richie spoke.

“It’s… It’s not that I don’t trust you, Eds. It’s not that at all, believe me. I just don’t know how to talk about this stuff, I guess. It feels like it won’t come out, y’know?”

“I know. But you’re hurting and I can’t help unless I know what’s happening.” Eddie tried to hide any frantic worry that attempted to creep up his throat and into his speech.

“And I want to tell you. I promise I do, Scout’s Honor. I just need to… I mean, I guess I just need to work myself up to it or something. So maybe we could drop it for tonight so I can kiss you and hold your hand and have something make me feel better? Because if I gotta be brutally honest with ya, babe, my night hasn’t been too hot.” Richie used the corner of Eddie’s shirt to wipe his eyes before he got himself together. 

Eddie complied, and the two fell asleep with their chests pressed together and a kiss mark hidden under the collar of his shirt. Their hands never budged.


	13. Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY IT's BEEN A WHILE! HAVE MORE ANGST!  
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

Eddie sat in Richie’s bed, legs tangled in the still warm sheets while he propped his knees up, a copy of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" rested easily on his legs like a stand. Not a foot away, Richie stood with his bare feet on the floor, searching for something in the drawers of his desk. This was never an easy feat, as although the drawers have generally become cleaner since the two started dating, within days they would become rearranged and would require another clean up soon after.

Eddie stared at the boy, waiting for him to come back into bed so he could continue reading. This was their habit, to read all of their school books together, with Eddie’s soft voice narrating the story and Richie’s head resting on Eddie’s lap or shoulder or just on the pillow next to him, eyes softly closing after some minutes. Even though they had different English teachers, the curriculum for the Sophomore class remained the same, and this made it easy for Richie to relax while Eddie read to him.

Now, Richie was looking for a highlighter for Eddie. Richie didn’t need much note taking (or even, really, much paying attention) to get good grades in school. Eddie, however, wasn’t let off that easy, and had to scribble in the margins and mark important parts to study for their reading quizzes. Richie would get annoyed since it disrupted the flow of the book and Eddie’s voice, but Eddie told him to fuck off because not all of them were born smart AND lucky.

Richie hopped gracelessly back into bed, drawing a small laugh out of Eddie before he was handed a highlighter. He quickly marked the notes and continued on reading. Richie insisted that he always read the dialogue for Billy Bibbit, since he was nearly a carbon copy of their own Billy and Richie could impersonate Bill’s stutter the best.

“‘Nuh! Nuh!’ His mouth was working. He shook his head, begging her. ‘You d-don't n-n-need!’” Richie narrated, as Eddie continued onto the next line, accurately portraying Nurse Ratchet. 

"’Billy Billy Billy," she said. "Your mother and I are old friends.”’ Eddie continued. Richie interrupted one of the most important parts of the book, laughing. Eddie’s hands, which were tightened around the book in his fear for Billy Bibbit, loosened as he looked to Richie, annoyed. “What is it?”

“It’s just… this kid is a total hybrid of you and Big Bill! Poor kid has a stutter AND mommy issues!” Richie laughed again.

“Will you shut the fuck up? With how much you talk about my mom, it seems like it’s you with mommy issues.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

As if she heard her name called, Richie’s mother interrupted the two boys perfectly on cue. She pounded on the door loudly, without rhythm. Eddie bet that Richie’s stomach dropped at the precise moment his own did. Richie called back, asking what she wanted, without moving from his place on the bed to open the door.

Eddie knew, loosely, about Richie’s alcoholic mother, but Richie had never allowed Eddie to talk to her when he knew she was drinking. Other times, Eddie was always surprised that she had that side to her, as she’d tried to be kind and open to her son’s friends. But Richie assured Eddie that that was fake as fuck, and that she was probably the shittiest person he had the luck of knowing. 

Eddie’s hands tensed again around the book as Richie’s mom took the liberty of pushing the doorknob and opening the door. She looked disheveled to say the least. Her hair was placed in a messy bun at the top of her head, pieces of thin hair streaming down the sides of her face like a leaky faucet, and her shirt was wet in two places. She reeked. 

Eddie had pressed Richie to tell him what was going on with him and why he’d been so down recently, much to Richie’s refusal. Instantly, Eddie understood what Richie had been dealing with daily. 

Richie glared at his mother, her shadow from the doorway casting a gloom onto the floor as her eyes lazily fluttered open and close. Eddie glanced at the boy next to him, seeing his cheeks had turned a bright shade of red. Eddie wondered if it was because Richie was angry, or just embarrassed. It was probably an intense feeling of both. Richie felt Eddie’s eyes on him but didn’t dare glance to him.

“What? Do you need to tell me something?” Richie said firmly. He wasn’t afraid of his mother how Eddie was, but rather just felt such intense shame that he wondered if it was wrong to wish he’d never have to see her again.

“I just… wanted to say that you’re being loud. And you’re hurting my um, my head.” She slurred out before pausing. “I didn’t know Eddie was here.” 

“Yup. We’ll be quiet. Please… go away.” her son spoke uncharacteristically stern and serious, a voice he only put on when dealing with the women who acted like a 5 year old. If 5 year olds ever had drinking problems.

“Mhm,” she mumbled, “but… uh, Richie… but you gotta go downstairs and um, clean up. I’m gonna lay down.” She stepped away from the door but left it hanging limply open. Richie sat without moving for a minute, eyes cast downwards as he picked the hem of his shirt and tried to blink tears away. 

After some time he got up swiftly, unfurling his long legs from under the sheets and nearly jogging downstairs to clean up whatever mess his mother had left. He had swung the door with his hand as he exited, hoping to shut the door as a sign for Eddie to stay, but he didn’t push as hard as he thought he did and the door only swung back without shutting. Eddie hopped off the bed himself, nearly bounding through the (still slightly open) door nearly as quickly as Richie did. 

His bare toes padded down the stairs rhythmically, and he held the railing as his feet flew miles ahead of him, worried he’d fall. When he finally reached the bottom of the staircase, he walked slowly into the open kitchen where Richie stood, head down, observing a couple of nearly empty glasses left in the sink. 

Eddie recoiled, trying to hold back a gag, as he covered his face with his hand in attempts to ward off the smell of Richie’s kitchen. A mix of vodka and vomit, and something sickly sweet-- maybe cranberry juice. Eddie’s first response was to step back, but then he saw Richie’s hand, shaking slightly, reach for the dish sponge and turn the faucet on.

Eddie walked to Richie’s side near the sink, taking another dish sponge to assist him in cleaning the dishes. There really weren’t too many cups in the sink, maybe six or so, so it didn’t take them too long to clean up. Eddie sat Richie down at the counter as he wiped it down with a bottle of bright blue Windex and a paper towel. The clean scent of the spray masked the pungent odor that wafted through the house a bit, which both of them were thankful for. After Eddie finished cleaning up, he went to the sink to wash his hands quickly with the dish soap and sat down next to Richie.

Eddie’s eyes were huge, fearful, worried. He tried to get Richie to look up and him, grabbing one of his shivering hands. Richie noted how he instantly felt safer, at least Eddie wasn’t angry. Not yet, at least.

Richie looked up at Eddie’s face, and Eddie attempted to give a smile but only succeeded in upturning one corner of his mouth a millimeter. Richie’s expression softened before he briskly pulled his hand out of Eddie’s hold and hopped off his seat.

“I think you need to go, Eddie.” Richie said curtly, walking towards his front door in a sign for Eddie to follow suit. Eddie hopped off the seat and stood, unmoving, shocked that Richie was… actually kicking him out.

Eddie was so surprised, he didn’t even know what to say. He knew how horrible Richie felt, but didn’t that mean he should be here for him?

“You don’t wanna come with?” he said after a moment, almost desperately, “we can go to my house or the arc-”

“No, I want you to leave. Can you just… please go now.” Richie spoke in a near whisper, trying harder than ever to keep his hot, angry tears from dripping out of his eyes and onto his cheeks. He hoped his glasses would do him the favor of hiding him nearly crying.

Eddie furrowed his brow and sighed, walking straight past Richie and out the door. When he stepped out onto Richie’s front step he turned around to say something, but was met with the quite slam of the door instead. He remained for a minute, before turning on his heels and beginning to walk home. Richie had drove him over after school, so this was his only way home. 

When Eddie finally opened his front door, his cheeks burned pink from the cold wind, as did his hands, although less so, as they were spared by the pockets of Richie’s warm sweatshirt.

That night, Eddie called Richie’s phone at the same time he always does. It rang twice before going to voicemail.


	14. Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst have fun  
> Characters and story belong to Stephen King.  
> Feedback immensely appreciated! Enjoy!

The morning air shoved at Eddie’s hair and clothes as he quickly got into the front seat of his car, shivering slightly before turning on the AC and the radio. It had become weird to sit in any car, let alone his own or Richie’s, without some sort of background music. A quiet when driving, especially when alone in the car, was nearly suffocating. The music was a release for thoughts.

The last thing Eddie needed right now was to be alone with his thoughts after staying with them until nearly three in the morning the previous night, intervals of pacing and breath control and nail biting keeping him up until the anvils pulling his eyelids down finally gave him a release. He wanted to feel okay so that it wasn’t weird when he picked up Richie.

The roads to Richie’s house had been driven on so much by Eddie’s car that he could nearly drive there without even looking. Driving there became second nature to Eddie, liking tying his shoelaces or reaching into his back pocket for his inhaler when he felt an attack coming on. By the time he arrived at Richie’s he had barely noticed the seconds passing.

He braced himself to open the door again, sliding his gloves back on. His mother told him she wouldn’t let him out had he not put them on, but now he was kinda glad he agreed to take them. Again, he felt the push of the cold air, reddening the tips of his ears and nose momentarily before he jogged up Richie’s front lawn and to his door. His (gloved) finger pressed the doorbell. 

He prayed Richie’s parents wouldn’t open the door.

A minute passed and Eddie rang again, nearly at the exact time he heard the click of the door opening. Richie stood in the doorway, his glasses set straight on his nose but not hiding the bags under his eyes. He was still in his pajamas although it was nearly noon, his Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt meeting the waistband of his grey and white flannel pants. 

He looked at Eddie nervously, his hand subconsciously scratching the back of his head before moving to awkwardly scratch his nose as well. He couldn’t keep his hands still. For the first time, he declined to speak first, anticipating that his voice would crack with the confusion of how to start.

Eddie’s gaze softened as he watched the boy continue to pick at the split ends of the hair that now grew a bit past his ear in long curls. Normally Eddie would tell him to stop it, maybe put his own hand through his hair instead to calm him down, but Eddie just stood in the doorway.

“Rich…” Eddie began slowly, eyes quickly moving from Richie’s eyes to his lips where he had began to bite the peeling skin, the beginnings of drawing blood. “Do you wanna come hang out? We could drive a bit. You should get out of your house.”

Richie sighed lightly before drawing a small smile and agreeing to go. He invited Eddie up to his room so he could change and put some shoes on his bare (and probably freezing) feet. Eddie made him take a heavier jacket than he usually did because he always complained that Richie would get cold. He complied, not feeling much like arguing about something trivial. 

Richie sat in the passenger's seat of the car, and Eddie was glad to see his pale hand reach forward to turn on the music. He thought he’d die if he had to sit in silence with Richie right now, who looked as though he hadn’t slept the whole night. Eddie stole quick glances at Richie through the corner of his eye as he drove through the back streets of Derry, trying to get far away and maybe see some scenery. Richie looked out the window, head slightly bobbing up and down to the mixtape he had made Eddie a couple days ago. 

Eddie had heard this song many times before Richie even put it on this mixtape, as Richie would blast it in his bedroom or in his car often when they hung out. He knew the words well at this point, and started to sing along. He wasn’t much of a singer by any means-- his voice was soft and breathy but on pitch, to give him credit. Better than Richie’s for sure, which could nearly just be classified as shouting. 

When Richie heard Eddie singing, he slowly turned his head to face his boyfriend, smiling. “Do you like the mixtape?”

“Of course,” Eddie replied, allowing himself to smile a bit too, “You know I always like the mixtapes you make for me.” It was true. Honestly, even if certain Grunge Rock bands that Richie listened to weren’t his favorite, he definitely liked a lot of the stuff Richie put on for him to listen to. Plus, how could he dislike something Richie made especially for him, something that was often garnished with hearts and cheesy titles. Of course he loved them; he kept every one.

This really made Richie smile as he began to sing along to the song. After that one ended, they sang along to the next. They were having fun. It felt normal. 

Finally they drove past a little look out spot where there was parking. It was cloudy and definitely too cold to sit by the pond, but they got out anyways. Richie’s hands quickly began to turn pink from lack of gloves (Eddie made sure to rub it in). Eddie offered to give him one glove so at least one hand could be warm. 

“No way, Jose. You keep them.” Richie said swiftly. “Although, if you wanna hold one of my hands that might keep it warm.” Eddie sighed at how cheesy he was, but didn’t mind taking his hand at all. Richie slid the other hand under his butt where he was sitting, saying that it’d keep it warm too. Eddie was glad Richie seemed to be feeling a bit better.

They sat quietly a little longer, Richie allowing his head to rest on Eddie’s shoulder, tilting his glasses a bit. He bounced his leg in place, so everything felt familiar. 

Eddie sighed and finally decided to speak. “What happened last night, babe?” He hoped him being sweet would lessen the blow.

Richie’s face darkened and he lifted his head from Eddie’s small shoulder. He turned his head and looked Eddie straight in the eye, maybe for the first time that day. He looked angry, something that Eddie rarely saw when it was just him and Richie. Usually they had little reason to be angry, unless maybe Richie was shit talking a teacher or getting competitive while playing Pokemon. 

“You’re an asshole. You only took me out to ask me about it again. I thought it was clear that I didn’t wanna fucking talk about it, Eddie.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed as his eyes opened wider. For perhaps the tenth time in the last 24 hours, he didn’t know how to respond. He sat and stared up at Richie, who had unlinked their hands and stood up from the bench. 

“If this is the only reason we’re here, then I’m leaving. I want you to drive me home.”

“Richie, c'mon…” Eddie began desperately. He had prayed it would have gone any way but this. “You know I’m only asking this because I wanna help--”

“Well then here you go. My mom is an booze hound who barely remembers her own name and spends more time on her knees over the toilet than she does standing up, and my dad is a stranger who probably barely remembers my name. That’s pretty much it, Eds, and I think you got most of that already. It fucking sucks, but I deal. I just… didn’t want you to see that.”

“Why? Why won’t you tell me things? Don’t you trust me?” Eddie felt himself getting angry too, and he knew it was bad because Richie, really, hadn’t done much wrong.

“No! It’s not that I don’t trust you.. It’s just hard for me to talk about, okay? I didn’t want you to judge me, and I like hanging out with you because it’s like… a way for me to get away from this. Bringing up my depressing home life isn’t the biggest turn on or anything.” Richie looked down, clasping and unclasping his hands. “When we hang out, I just want it to be fun. I don’t wanna talk about this stuff.”

“Do you really think I’d judge you for that, dumbass? We are dating, aren’t we? That means it’s more than just having fun. I want you to trust me and to tell me when you’re sad, because dating means we go through stuff together.” 

“I told you already, it’s hard for me to say this stuff! In two years I’ll go to college and I won’t have to deal with them anymore, so it’s whatever. Can we fucking let this go please?” 

Eddie felt hot tears attempting to come and he lowered his head, allowing it. Richie felt horrible, but he couldn’t control himself. “Pushing back how you feel isn’t good for your health… I just wanna be there for you and help you, Richie.” Eddie spoke softly, wiping his eyes with the arm of his heavy jacket.

“You can help me by taking me home.”

“I cannot fucking believe you right now. I tell you everything and you won’t even let me be there for you.” Eddie spat, raising his head to look at Richie who recoiled a bit.

“And I cannot believe you’re making me the bad guy right now. Please drive me home, I don’t wanna be here anymore.” 

“Fine,” Eddie said, nose clogged, and they got in the car. “I can’t believe our first fight is about how much I care about you,” Eddie said after driving quietly. Richie chuckled, sniffled, and went back to silence. Eddie didn’t come to Richie’s house the next morning.

\--

That week neither Richie nor Eddie could think about school work or going out or even eating. They sat separated in class, and Eddie even asked to work with another girl during a lab in Physics a couple days later. Richie went to the bathroom to stop himself from tearing up in class.

Driving to and from was arguably the worst part. Eddie’s mom could drive Eddie to school if Richie didn’t, but she took the car on week days to go to her job at the grocery store. Bill, Mike and Ben had sports after school, Beverly didn’t drive, and Stan’s house was too out of the way. Eddie refused to take the bus after an incident in the third grade in which some girl threw up in the seat in front of him, so without Richie to drive him home his only option was to bike. Both boys found this part of the day perhaps the most depressing, besides going to bed alone without even a phone call to compensate. 

Richie went to sit in the library during lunch instead of at their usual table in the back corner of the cafeteria. Everyone noticed his absence and asked where the loud mouth had gone off to, mostly looking at Eddie for an answer since, typically, the two were inseparable. After Eddie continued to keep his head down at the questions, slowly chewing a tasteless salad his mother had packed for him, Stan got up to look for him.

Richie’s hands searched for a way to distract themselves, finally settling on ripping pieces of paper from his English notebook out and shredding them into tiny pieces, creating what looked like a snow-capped mountain on the table in front of him. He didn’t even bother to put the headphones of his Walkman into his ears.

Richie’s gaze lazily fell on Stan as the other boy pulled the wooden chair across from Richie out and sat down, folding his hands in front of him and carrying a serious face.

“Hey, Stanley the Manley, what’s crackin’?” Richie attempted to speak casually, but his monotone voice exposed how he was actually feeling.

“You tell me,” Stan replied coolly, “You’ve been in a depression the last couple days and it seems Eddie’s caught whatever you have as well.” 

Richie sighed and slumped forward, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand and not bothering to adjust his frames. “Ugh,” he managed to get out.

“Did you guys get in a fight?” 

Richie didn’t want to come to terms that they had had a real fight, since he had proclaimed (loudly) that he would never hurt his Eddie and that the other Loser’s worries and “Be careful, Richie”s were unjustified. He always wanted to seem like a perfect couple, and up until now they never had to put that act on because, more or less, it was the truth.

Richie shifted his face from his palms to the crooks of his arms that rested on the table, his sad relentment into agreement coming out muffled. He raised his head slightly to ask if Stan had talked to him in the last couple days.

“Sorta,’ Stan said slowly, “I asked if he was okay in English and he said he was… he looked really tired though.” 

Richie slumped back down again, wondering if he would have preferred to hear Eddie was great or horrible. He knew that, of course, he’d rather him feel great, even if it left him feeling like shit. He wanted Eddie to be happy above all else. 

Stan rolled his eyes at Richie, trying so hard not to yell at him to apologize for whatever they did wrong and stop feeling so sorry for himself, but he held back.

“Well, it seems like you’re not mad anymore. It just seems like you’re sad and you miss him. So why don’t you stop being stubborn and go say sorry and then you can make out in the Locker Room during 7th period as usual.” 

‘You’re right. I just hope he doesn’t hate me now.”

“I don’t even know what you guys fought about, but he obviously doesn’t hate you. He nearly looks worse than you do right now, and you look really bad.” 

Richie frowned at that. He planned to go to Eddie’s straight from school.

\--

His car hummed and buckled and came to a stop in front of Eddie’s mail box. He didn’t bother to lock it before his feet padded quickly up his drive way quicker than he anticipated, hastily banging his fists on the wooden door. Before Richie even finished knocking, the door creaked open slowly. 

Eddie stood in the doorway, dressed in the same thick jacket and gloves he wore the day he got in the fight with Richie. He looked confused as he stared at Richie.

“Where are you going?” Richie asked the smaller boy, disheartened as he was hoping to have time to pour his whole entire heart out.

“I… was going to your house.” Eddie replied monotonously. He saw Richie’s face change from concern to relief to even letting out a small chuckle, and Eddie allowed himself one as well. 

Eddie took a small step off the ledge of the door and looked at Richie again, who took no time wrapping his arms around Eddie and burying his face in his neck. Eddie’s hand found itself in Richie’s hair, comforting both of them. 

They found their way up the stairs, hands still glued together, and onto Eddie’s bed where a litany of jumbled sobs of confession and recountings of the past couple of years and I’m sorrys kept coming out of Richie’s mouth, unstopping, like a broken shower nozzle until he had tired himself out and fell asleep with his cheek pressed against the wet spots on the chest of Eddie’s shirt. 

Two hours later, Richie woke up, smiled at the other boy who still slept, ordered a pizza, and pulled out the two Game Boys that were in the desk drawer.


End file.
